Coup de Foudre
by Teenangel
Summary: Post Promise Day. Ed returned to the military to support Mustang in his eventual rise to Fuhrer. Meanwhile, Amestris has begun treaty discussions with the Creta Kingdom to the southwest. But Ed's accidental relationship with a young lady might reveal a dark, alchemic secret behind the Cretan throne. AlWin, RoyRiza, EdOc.
1. Chapter 1

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to _assume_ that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".

* * *

Four years after the Promise Day, the world had become surprisingly calm. Fuhrer Grumman was doing a fair job keeping Amestris both well protected and well governed, without resorting to overt military actions (though Amestris was _still_ a military regime).

A treaty had been agreed upon with Drachma, especially after they'd had heavy crop failure in their lowlands and the Northern District had quickly offered assistance. In addition, as an act of good will, sending a few barrels of fine Eloxmir whiskey seemed to keep the current Drachma Council satiated.

As if overnight, the Xing Empire had become the country's new best friend. Emperor Ling, after his fabled search for immortality, had grown a soft spot for Amestris, which the general public couldn't quite explain. Though there were always odd rumors: something about once seeing the young Ling passed out in the streets of Central or running around with the Fullmetal Alchemist.

The Commonwealth of Aerugo just shrugged, having never really bothered with Amestris in the first place. They did agree to deal more swiftly with their unsanctioned guerilla troops operating near the borders. Indeed, Aerugo government had their hands so full controlling their own internal skirmishes that Amestris could probably have marched themselves right into the country if they wished.

The most pressing matter for the Fuhrer and the board of generals was Creta, the introverted but assertive country to the southwest. The last official meeting between the two powers had been over 40 years ago, back when the country of Amestris had begun to overstretch its boundaries in the Western District. And today, October 11, 1919, was a day for the history books, as the first Creta delegation sauntered into Central.

The whole thing was also a massive headache, between setting up security measures, hiring translators, and organizing a schedule of events (including a friendly formal ball, as was a Creta custom), along with a slew of other details that had to be tediously sorted out.

Brigadier General Mustang was about to rip his hair out with all the logistical paperwork it required. He let his glasses slip down his nose and planted his face into the hardwood of his desk and grunted. (Although Dr. Marcoh had been able to cure Mustang of his blindness, his eyesight was never quite the same again.)

"Only a few more, sir," said Major Hawkeye.

"You said that a few more ago," grumbled the General.

Sitting at the large sectioned table, Havoc and Fury chuckled; it was good to know some things never changed.

The office door flew open, and Edward Elric came marching in, looking quite handsome in the standard blue uniform, "Hey there General, working hard or hardly working?"

"Fullmetal…," Mustang just didn't feel in the mood to deal with any shenanigans the younger Alchemist may have instigated, "Just give me the report."

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Edward said, throwing the folder down, "Damn boring assignment. Just some teenagers playing pranks on the village with alchemy."

"So nothing blew up this time right?" said Havoc.

Edward glared at him. He glared at all of them. Damn it, he'd turned 20 already, yet they still treated him like a child. He was even tall enough to wear the damn uniform now – well, tallish. It still irked Edward that Alphonse was now a sturdy 5' 7" and Edward was clearly stuck down at 5' 3".

Mustang scanned the file, scowling at Edward's terrible handwriting. "I guess you can finish some of your backlog then."

Edward sighed, staring at the six inch stack waiting at his alcove. Seriously, was this the military or a secretary sweatshop? He plopped himself down, wondering how he'd gotten stuck with such a tedious job. He was still a State Alchemist, and in fact, a Lt. Colonel now; occasionally, there were assignments that took him out of the office or the alchemic lab – a stupid person with alchemy here, a scam artist there, a couple stuffy VIPs to bodyguard – but 60% of the time, it was paperwork.

After the Promise Day, Edward had been a bit at a loss of what to do with himself. His mission had been accomplished, and in addition, the crazed homunculus Father had been vanquished. (Edward still had both automail limbs, but limbs were not pressing matters; besides, he'd grown quite accustomed to them.) When Alphonse had regained enough strength to travel, the two brothers had headed back to Resembol. Winry and Al soon became a couple, and poor Edward started to feel like a third wheel.

Besides the fact that the village of Resembol was uneventfully parochial, he felt he owed his loyalty to a certain asshole. If Roy Mustang was going to become Fuhrer and change the country for the better, Edward needed to give him all the support he could muster. He was determined the day would come when he'd have to pay back 520 cenz.

So, he'd returned to Central and found the position waiting for him. Mustang had written off Ed's time away as a sabbatical, so confident that the Fullmetal Alchemist would return. Four years later and here he was – _still_ a dog of the military.

Edward sighed and signed another file to be placed into storage. Havoc leaned over chewing on a lollipop stick (his wife had insisted he give up smoking).

"So, Edward, there's this nice girl that works at the flower shop…."

"No," said Ed.

"You haven't even heard anything about her."

"I don't need to," said Ed, "the last three people you tried to set me up with were just, just terrible. I'll figure it out on my own. Thank you."

"Havoc, stop trying to get Fullmetal laid and get back to work," Mustang shouted. His fuse that day was growing shorter by the second. At the term _laid_ , Edward turned five shades of red and buried his face in a manila folder. Havoc started laughing his butt off and crashed sideways out of his chair.

Edward glowered down at the lieutenant, clapped his hands together, and transmuted a large wooden paddle from the table. "Damn it! IT'S NOT THAT FUNNY!"

SNAP! Havoc looked down and found his lollipop stick quite singed. Edward smelled a bit of burning hair and stared at the end of his braid in dismay.

"Both of you, knock if the fuck off! Damn it, Fullmetal go to the library!" Mustang looked ready to burn down the office. Even Hawkeye was a little taken aback at the General's reaction. Evidently, if he couldn't have fun while the Cretan delegation was in town, then no one would have fun.

Edward made no complaint and scurried off to do his work in the blissful scent and silence of books.

XXXXXXX

At Central Library, there were many subjects that were little referenced and these isles were perfect places of respite. Edward set himself up on the carpeted floor in the agricultural section; it reminded him of all those days spent with his brother researching the philosopher's stone.

After a few hours, Ed actually _finished_ all his paperwork. He had a cadet courier it over to General Mustang's office, leaving Ed free to wander the stacks in search of interesting, forgotten alchemic tomes, and with the budding political relationship with Xing, there were even detailed books on alkahestry.

Ed was in the corner of the upper floor when he heard soft footsteps coming towards him.

"Excuse me," said a firm, feminine voice, rolling her vowel sounds, "you help me?"

Edward turned around. A brilliant young lady smiled back at him; her emerald eyes glittered with a striking intensity, and the slants of light through the windows danced across the highlights of her short copper-red hair. Edward momentarily became speechless.

"I look for alchemy book," she said in broken Amestrian, "But book for new person."

Ed blinked forming a quick conclusion – the accent, the hair, the odd pattern of her dress – that she was Cretan. Alphonse and Edward had always anticipated that their search might take them outside of Amestris, so they'd often spent the long train rides practicing foreign languages, including Drachmanian and passable Xingese (though Edward still couldn't grasp their ideograms).

It took him a moment to revive the Cretan tongue from his memory, but he felt great pride at how prepared he was. "Oui, je peux vous aider." [Yes, I can help you.]

Her eyes, if possible, became even more glowing."Oooo vous pouvez parler Cretan. Je cherche un livre alchimique pour une debutante. Quelque chose tre simple." [You can speak Cretan. I am looking for a beginner alchemy book. Something very simple.]

"Oui, mais je ne pense pas tu puisses emprunter un liver a cette bibliotheque. Vous devez habiter dans Central." [Yes, but, I don't think you can take out books from this library. You have to live in Central.]

"Ah," the young lady shrugged, "C'est la vie. Peut-etre, mmmm…une libriaire dans les environs?" [Ah, that's life. Maybe…there is a bookstore nearby?]

"Peut-etre, mais…," he thought about his small apartment overflowing with books (not quite Sheska-level, but he certainly had a couples piles scattered about the living room floor); he definitely had a few decent introductory texts, "je peux vous donner une introduction à la alchemique, oui?" [Maybe, but…I can give you an introductory text about alchemy, yes?]

Edward _knew_ why he was so quick to offer her a book – he enjoyed helping others learn the wonder of alchemy, the General bastard constantly chided him to be an exemplar of their country, but most importantly, the young Cretan lady was damn beautiful and exotic. His heart literally skipped a beat just listening to her voice.

[I can't keep up the French; it will simply be noted when they are speaking "Cretan."]

"You would do that for me? You are very kind," she bowed her head politely, "I'm Holly. There must be something I can do for you in return."

He smiled and said, "Just use your alchemy wisely. Alchemy has serious potential to be used for the greater good." Or the greater evil, Ed mused darkly.

A commotion could be heard downstairs; the librarian sounded irate. Holly passed her eyes down the aisles nearby and looked worriedly towards the staircase. "Um, I think I need to get going. But the book – "

"I can bring it for you tomorrow," Ed said.

"Tomorrow, here at the library. Four o'clock. Oui?"

"Oui," he said. Holly hurried off, leaving him to sigh at the space she had just occupied. Now that he wasn't a deer caught in shiny green headlights, Ed began to comb over their quick conversation, in the hopes that he hadn't made a fool of himself.

Edward smacked himself in the face. "Oh crap, I didn't tell her my name."

NOTES: It has been mentioned by others that red hair doesn't really show up in the FMA anime; hence, I've decided that red hair would seem exotic to Amestrians. Edward is wearing his uniform, so Holly would assume he is an Amestrian officer, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to _assume_ that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".

[I may occasionally use actual French or German when I feel the original sounds better or means something slightly different than the English version.]

* * *

The next day, Edward got through the minutes on autopilot. He almost signed documents twice, and he completely butchered alchemic calculations requested by the agricultural department. The waste basket was overflowing with his mistakes.

Ed sighed for the one hundredth time. Five minutes. He'd only met her for five minutes, but he couldn't get Holly out of his mind. Her hair was a flame, and he felt like a moth that couldn't help itself. None of Havoc's shop girls compared to her, and yet, Edward knew nothing about her! Just that she was interested in alchemy and that she was Cretan.

There were many Cretans in town for the general festivities, now that the travel restrictions across the border had been lifted. A cultural fair was scheduled for the weekend in the Grand Park; an open exchange of food, crafts, and music between Creta and Amestris. Ed just looked forward to the food.

One-hundred-and-one sighs. Four o'clock didn't come soon enough. The young Alchemist's quick, intelligent brain was running itself ragged with all sorts of possibilities and probabilities, all the myriad ways he could put his foot in his mouth. He rubbed his cheek trying to count how many times he'd been slapped in the past year.

At the strike of 3:45 PM, he barreled out of the office. ("Well, isn't he a bundle of joy, today," said Havoc, "Whoever she is, she must be something.")

At the library, he slowed his pace, lingering a moment on each creaky step to the second floor stacks, trying to calm down his nerves enough so he wouldn't be a jumble of half-coherent thoughts.

Alphonse sometimes poked fun at how terrible his older brother was at dating, while at the same time Al felt a bit guilty. He had Winry; Edward had…books?

Ed looked down all the aisles – deserted. He plopped himself at the table in the middle of the stacks and pulled out his battered alchemy text (pages horribly stained and dog-eared from years of use) and began jotting down helpful hints in the margins.

4:05, 4:15, 4:30, 5:00…great, not even a real date and he'd already been stood up. Ed chewed on the end of his fountain pen and thumped his head against the table. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Quick, small footballs hurried up the stairs. Ed whipped around in his chair to see Holly, one hand on her chest, trying to catch her breath. Again she was dressed modestly in her country's style – a flowing full-length skirt in traditional Cretan flower patterns, a high necked cobalt shirt covered by a plain loose black sweater, and _gloves?_ Had she been wearing gloves the first time?

"So, so, so, sorry, so sorry," she heaved in Amestrian.

Ed's 'Alchemist of the People' mindset kicked in, "Holly, are you okay? Is everything alright?"

Holly brushed him off, "Good, good, all go good." She switched to Cretan, "I was just running late. I just got lost finding the library. Your streets literally go in circles."

Lost, sure, thought Ed, but you've clearly been running for awhile. He didn't pry though; he was off duty and not every lady was a damsel in distress. She dropped herself into the seat next to him and pulled the book over.

"I will need to practice my Amestrian," she said, "though it is much easier for me to read it."

"I put some notes in Cretan. I realize not everything translates well."

She beamed at him, "You truly are amazing! Olga was so surprised I found a soldier who spoke Cretan! She wouldn't believe me!"

"Olga?"

Holly blushed as if getting caught in a lie, "Um, just a friend. But truly, Olga told me I'm more likely to meet the Fullmetal Alchemist than a soldier who speaks our language."

Edward Elric grinned awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head, "Oh yeah, about that. Um, I am Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist." He took out his pocket watch and dangled it in front of her.

Holly stared at him incredulously and then firmly spoke, "Are you toying with me! I say this right now, I do not appreciate insipid jokes. And you want me to believe _the_ Fullmetal Alchemist is _my_ height!" She stood up as if he'd offended her entire nation and started walking towards the stairs.

Well that went well, thought Ed as he bolted after her. "Wait, Holly, wait, I swear. I have the watch. In Amestris, only State Alchemist have it…and um this, see I'm Fullmetal! No trick!" Ed had taken off his glove and waved his metal hand in her face, "And seriously, damn it…," he tried to swallow his pride and failed, "YOU THINK I'M SO SMALL I CAN'T EVEN STAND UP FOR MY COUNTRY!"

Ed braced for a slap that didn't come. Instead, she walked back to him, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. She gently lifted his automail arm into her hands, feeling the heavy form through the jacket arm and then caressed her fingers across the smooth metallic palm. And that's when Ed noticed it; even with her glove on, he knew the odd non-sensation – metal touching metal.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't imagine it to be true," Holly snapped out of her daze and released his hand. "Oh, that wasn't appropriate, I do apologize, sir. I, just, automail is not common in Creta, though it is fascinating."

Not common? thought Ed, but your left arm _is_ automail! The gloves, the loose long-sleeved sweater – she kept it secret, but why? Did Cretans have a stigma against automail like Ishvalans? Ed's curiosity was piqued: Holly was no ordinary woman.

They sat back at the table. An air of nervousness settled on the pair as if surrounded by static electricity. To distract from the silent embarrassment building between them, Edward simply opened to the first chapter and started giving Holly her first alchemy lesson.

Holly dutifully fell into step, focusing in on his instruction, soaking in his words and demonstrations like a sponge. Ed delighted in her quick mind, which grasped concepts before he'd finished explaining them.

By 8 PM, Holly had completed a basic transmutation of a pure metal (Ed had offered up the chain from his watch as material) into a solid cube. And that was when the librarian informed them the building was closing.

They walked out into the parade grounds; the ineffable emotional static still tingled between them. Holly held out the cube of silver to the Fullmetal Alchemist, who laughed, "Nah, you keep it. Don't worry about it. I can get another chain."

Holly held it in her hands as if it was a gift from heaven, "Merci beaucoup."

They stood looking at each other for a minute, eye to eye, emerald to gold. "Damn, we really are the same height," blurted Edward. Holly smiled. It sent shivers up his spine, and impulsively, he started to lean in towards her….

A shadow loomed over the pair, and Edward nearly jumped out of his sockets to see a giant, heavy-muscled woman with a taunt auburn bun staring him down. He was an ant and she was the foot."Bonjour?" He squeaked.

"Olga, do be a dear and don't traumatize him," sighed Holly, "I can't believe _you_ of all people could sneak up on us."

Olga straightened her crimson uniform blazer and frowned, "I've been looking everywhere. I've been worried sick. You must stop running off like that!"

"Don't worry, I was being escorted by the Fullmetal Alchemist. I was in no harm."

"This runt is a State Alchemist," scoffed Olga.

Edward blew a fuse, clapped his hands together, changing his automail into a blade, "Who the hell you calling runt THAT HE'S SO DAMN SMALL THEY SQUASH HIM LIKE AN ANT IN A MILITARY PARADE!"

Holly giggled and tapped a finger to her chin, "I'm not sure that would happen, sir."

"I guess he does have spunk," said Olga, unfazed by the blade at her face. She turned to Holly. "Princess Francesca, it is late. You have several appointments in the morning."

 _Princess!_ Edward Elric's nerve cells collectively froze, and his jaw dropped to the concrete.

Holly, Princess Francesca, turned red in the face and stuttered, "Fullmetal, sir, I'm sorry. I should have informed you. It was just enjoyable being no-one for a couple days." Olga started to lead her towards the new Cretan Embassy.

The princess waved good bye, "Ravi d'avoir fait votre connaissance." [It was really nice meeting you.]

Ed struggled to find his vocal cords, "A la prochaine." [See you]

XXXXXXX

The next day, the whole office noticed that Lt. Colonel Elric was _off_ – absent-minded, extremely short tempered, and subject to sudden moments of hitting his head into the desk mumbling "stupid."

"I guess your date didn't go very well," said Havoc.

Ed looked up like the Lieutenant had grown another head, "What are you talking about?"

Havoc shrugged, "I just figured, you were so ants-in-your-pants yesterday, then running off kinda giddy, must've been a big date."

Fury took off his headphones and rolled his chair around the table to join the conversation, "You didn't yell when this one mentioned your height, again, did you?"

Well he had, thought Edward, but it _wasn't_ a date and, "No one slapped me this time!"

"Ah, so you did go out," smirked Havoc triumphantly, "Come on, we want all the gory details. Was it at that bar you like to sulk in?"

"What! I do not sulk, and I was just at the library," Ed said.

"You had a date at the library," Fury paused in thought, "I don't suppose she has an older sister, does she?"

Ed growled and fisted his automail hand, "Damn it, I said nothing happened, now get back to work before I rearrange your faces."

"Sure thing, boss," said Havoc, "but if ya need any advice, ya know where to find me."

Sure, advice, thought Edward giving himself a whack on the forehead, I have a crush on a Princess, what the hell do you do with that? He ripped up all his useless alchemic calculations and started from scratch. By the time the others stepped out, he was close to finishing his report, which the agricultural department had wanted done by tomorrow.

General Mustang walked by the open office door, his hair slicked down and his black rimmed, as Breda said, "sexy" glasses on. "Fullmetal, why are you still here?"

"Paperwork," he moaned.

Mustang tossed the file aside, "Do it later! Did you forget about the ball this evening! All State Alchemists are expected to attend – in _dress_ uniform." He looked pointedly at the disheveled young man and the ketchup stains speckled across his front lapel. "You better book it! If you aren't at the ball by six, paperwork will be the least of your worries."

Edward gave a weak salute, "Yes, General Bastard, I mean sir."

Mustang slapped him upside the head.

Ed shot up to attention, giving his superior a death glare, "Alright, alright, don't get all snap-happy."

"And I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ed said, while jesting sullenly to himself, Right, so no flirting with the Princess.


	3. Chapter 3

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to _assume_ that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".

New Note: Just to make it clear, I am ignoring the FMA movie _The Sacred Stars of Milos_ , and with it, the information they set up about Creta. Although, I might borrow the urban design of Table City.

* * *

A quick shower, a panic rush to _find_ his dress uniform, and then Edward was out the door, running like Sloth-on-a-bad-day until he was able to hail down a cab to the State House. Edward leapt up the granite front steps two-by-two and presented his watch to the guards.

He did, in fact, seem to be late. The place was already a hustle and bustle of dignitaries, officers, and other notables of various backgrounds, milling about, making small talk, or speaking in subtle doublespeak.

"5:55, I'm impressed." General Mustang stepped up beside Lt. Colonel Elric and handed him a glass of champagne.

"Don't worry, I didn't damage anything on the way over," Edward joked.

Mustang gave him an honest grin; it seemed the stress of the last few weeks was wearing off, now that the special event was finally happening (and without any hitches thus far). Or perhaps, the General had simply gotten into the champagne before the younger man had arrived.

The two looked out across the room.

The ballroom was decked out in Amestrian blue and Cretan red; ribbons wrapped in undulating patterns across the ceiling and walls; embroidered banners with the emblems of both countries hung high above the guests. A small orchestra was playing a Cretan waltz and a few couples danced in the center. Dozens of circular tables were scattered about, decked in shimmering gold cloth, each with a bouquet of white flowers and a view of the VIP table at the front.

Ed commented, "They sure didn't pull any punches for this."

"Of course," said Mustang matter-of-factly, "although considered quite conservative and introverted, the country of Creta is extremely powerful. By some miracle, they've never pressed their forces beyond Pendleton, probably wary of the State Alchemist program. The recent ceasefire presented a perfect opportunity to form a formal peace treaty, even a possible alliance."

"Brushing up on your homework, eh, future Fuhrer?" Ed nudged him with his metal elbow.

"Fullmetal," he scolded, "maybe you should take things more seriously and learn what is _actually_ going on. And stop snoring during my briefings!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Ed said. He took a sip of his champagne and made a face; he hated bubbly drinks.

A sergeant came and whispered in the General's ear. The General snapped, "What, again? Isn't this the third time? Can't they keep track of their own royalty?"

"What is it?" asked Edward.

Mustang rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, "The Cretan princess is missing again. It seems she keeps ducking her bodyguard. And she seems very adept at finding places to hide."

 _Holly!_ Edward downed his drink."Oh, oh, that, um, must be a pain," he tried to commiserate.

"I'm a General, for crying out loud, not a freakin' babysitter." Mustang barked orders to several officers to fan out and search the building. Meanwhile, Edward stealthily retreated and slipped out into a servant hallway – he had a hunch.

Even after defeating the homunculi, Edward had still scoured through decades of floor plans, suspicious of any other unofficial labs still operating inside the government. He remembered the State House had been no-too-recently overhauled; this left the third floor a hodgepodge of administrative offices, with a quaint balcony that had a single awkward access.

After getting turned around a couple times, Edward found the southwest corner of the building and walked up the narrow servant staircase to a small access door at the top. The door was slightly ajar, letting in the sounds of distant cars and the breeze of the autumn evening. He stepped out into the night.

Holly, the Princess Francesca, stood by the marble balustrade, staring down at her hands.

Edward's breath hitched. She certainly wasn't "no-one" tonight. She wore a long, elegant, midnight-blue dress with an asymmetrical neckline that bared her right shoulder; the sleeves came to her elbows, overlapped by black silk gloves, and a slit ran up her right leg, revealing freckles on her smooth calf. Then perched on her cropped copper locks was a delicate tiara of white and red stones.

Now that he'd found her, he wasn't quite sure what his plan had been. "Um, good evening, Princess Francesca?" he spoke in Cretan.

The princess jumped a step, turned, and smiled relieved. "It _is_ a lovely evening. Would you care to join me?"

Edward hesitantly stepped beside her and said, "You have them running around like mice in a maze, right now."

She shrugged, "They have no hold on me. My uncle, the Prince Regent, is who they really want to talk to this evening."

"Okay…um," the great Fullmetal Alchemist's mind was coming up blank. He tapped the marble balustrade and then asked, "So, um, why the name Holly before?"

"Oh, it's a nickname. Francesca Halycon Halloway Rose-Mereth. My mother just called me Holly." _Called her,_ past tense.

During the general briefing about Creta, which Edward had _not_ slept through, the officers were informed that the Prince Regent Marc Alexandre had taken the thrown after the King and Queen, along with dozens of Cretan citizens, had perished in an unspeakable accident. The briefing, however, was vague about the circumstances.

An accident…Ed mused. He looked over at the princess's left arm and blurted the question before his frontal cortex could smack it down, "Why do you hide your automail?"

"Oh," she gasped. Her eyes widened, and he could see fear rising in her chest as her breath quickened. "You cannot share that with _anyone!_ "

"Okay, I promise," he said quickly, "My honor as an alchemist. I won't tell anyone, not even, not even my brother." It truly was the best promise he could come up with: he told Alphonse everything.

She stared at him as if scanning his expression for a shadow of truth. Then she rubbed her hands together and exhaled a weight off her shoulders. "It's, a bit of a state secret. My uncle is concerned that common knowledge of it would, uh, diminish my chances of a profitable marriage."

" _Profitable,"_ the word tasted sour in his mouth.

"Yes. In the Cretan aristocracy, marriages are often to seal agreements or distribute influence."

The Xing prince had made a similar statement years ago and yet, "But even Ling married for love!"

"Ling? Emperor Yao? Yes, I suppose he did, and he's still dealing with the aftermath of that decision."

"Aftermath? Why should it matter to anyone else who someone else marries, why does marriage matter at all? Why can't two people just love each other? Why are there all these rules that ruin people's lives," Ed said passionately, an image of Hawkeye and Mustang split by a chasm of rank blaring in his mind. "It's not fair, damn it!"

Edward's brain caught up with his mouth, and his face burned red. How'd he gone from having a crush on a princess to discussing marriage with her? (Albeit marriage in a general sense.)

She smiled wistfully, "If only everyone thought as you do."

"Right, yeah, well," Edward started to fidget with his braid, "Uh, you been reading the book?"

"Oh yes," she said and started to jabber on excitedly, "it is all so fascinating, equivalent exchange, composition, deconstruction, reconstruction. All the things you have to take into consideration: the basic form, the molecular structure, the elemental materials. All these materials flowing into something new, everything constantly flowing it seems, as if the world is many and the world is one."

"All is one, one is all," Ed restated, "something my teacher taught me." He paused before asking, "Why _do_ you want to learn alchemy? It's not very popular in Creta."

"True, and my uncle has always discouraged such interests. He would think it appallingly improper for one of my position to learn such a trade," she flexed her automail hand, "But, I am afraid of alchemy," she looked pointedly at Fullmetal, "I must conquer my fears."

Their eyes locked for two minutes too long; again, the strange energy built up around them as if any moment a spark could start a flame.

A door slammed below. The two turned at the sound of frantic not-so-distant footsteps.

"I guess I should be returning to the ball," she said, stepping slowly towards the small exit. She motioned toward the top of the doorframe that just missed her tiara and said, "It's good to be short."

Edward laughed goodbye. He waited for her to descend before exhaling a deep breath and resting his face on the cool marble, mumbling to himself, "Now, you're really an idiot."

The rest of the evening was a subtle, surreal nightmare that taunts one with ripe fruit just out of reach or water that's completely saline. Ed kept glancing up at the top table, the Princess seated beside the Prince Regent, seated merely across a ballroom but also a million miles away.

Mustang tugged on his braid. Ed shouted, "Hey, what's the big idea?"

"You look like a zombie, and you haven't touched your food. We wouldn't want to be rude would we?"

The young alchemist looked down at his Cretan entrée. Normally, he'd be stuffing his face with seconds or thirds by now; he approved of all functions that offered free meals. For someone so good at alchemy, the deconstructing and reconstruction of elemental materials, he was horrible at doing the same steps to ingredients to make edible food.

He pushed the plate away, "I'm actually not feeling well. Would it be rude if I ditch early?"

Mustang blinked surprised and gave Fullmetal a cursory inspection. He did seem lethargic and pale, and there _was_ that time Fullmetal had the stomach flu at Havoc's Christmas party. "Um, alright…I'd rather not have you puke here. You're dismissed."

XXXXXXX

Edward spent the whole week trying to forget about _Holly_ , only to spend the whole week getting teasing glimpses. A quick wave during a building tour, several smiles whenever she and Olga passed him on the parade ground, even a faraway blurry glance of her during the cultural festival.

And then she stalked him in his dreams. Most were innocent, just chatting on the balcony or in the library, but a few took an imaginative turn, working on his desire to see her automail, slowly stripping off her sweater, her glove, her shirt—

Ed fell out of bed with a smack and groaned into the floorboards. He dragged himself up, pulled his hair into a ponytail, and then padded out into the kitchen, wearing his black t-shirt and powder blue boxers. Going through the motions, he put two slices of bread in the toaster and then started to make coffee on the stove.

There was a soft knock. Who would be here on a Saturday? Fury, Sheska? Ed opened the door and was face to face with – Holly! Princess Francesca!

She stared down at his boxers; Edward stared down at his boxers. Edward promptly slammed the door in her face.

Then he heard Olga's booming voice, "You will be putting PANTS ON to meet Her Royal Highness or I will— " He didn't hear what doom was in store for him, but ran into the bedroom like a maniac, scattering clothes left and right, until he found a decent pair of black slacks to literally hop into.

He came back to the door, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath. Princess Francesca stood in the same spot, though looking a bit paler than before.

"So, so, so sorry. Perhaps, I should have called first," she stuttered. "I was so hoping I could get another alchemy lesson before I leave. Oh, is something burning?"

"Gah, my toast!" Ed dashed into the kitchen, knocking papers off the entrance table. Using his automail hand, he pulled out the black smoking bread and dropped it in the trash. Meanwhile, the Princess picked up the scattered letters that had fallen on the floor.

She held one up and froze, "You get letters from the Emperor of Xing?"

"Um, Ling, yeah," said Ed, "I mean once in a while."

"Emperor Yao _writes_ you letters! The man personally _hand_ writes you letters?"

"Um, yes. Though I'd much rather have the 10000 cenz he owes me," said Ed as he poured himself some over-brewed coffee.

Without the fancy gowns, he found it immensely easier to treat her as simply Holly –Holly, a young, intelligent Cretan lady. Still, his heart raced, his chest tightened, and his head felt as if it had floated off into the corner, watching everything in third person.

She put the letter down and followed Ed into the quaint living room, "I've heard many rumors about you, but clearly they don't do you justice. Anyone who can get even a second from a Xing Emperor…." Her eyes scanned the piles of books on the floor, and she started perusing through a stack near her.

"That one's a little too advance, for now." He sat on the floor and pawed through a teetering pile by the couch. "I do have a couple others that might be useful. Information on chemical element and molecular composition. Helps when the transmutations get more complicated."

Olga took up position by the entrance as the two settled down on the carpet.

Again, Edward redirected his nervous energy toward an alchemy lesson, and "simply Holly" followed his lead and faithfully played his alchemy student. They worked on the periodic table; Edward stressed how much of alchemy was rote memorization.

It had only been a half an hour when Olga cleared her throat and said, "Princess Francesca, it is time to go. We must get to the train station before His Majesty does."

"Oh, right," she stood up and straightened out her skirt.

Edward handed over the two texts, "Here, you can keep these, too. As you can tell I have too many."

"There is no such thing as too many books," she smiled, tucking them under her right arm. "Thank you for all your instruction and, indeed, for your discretion. I am truly in your debt." She held out her automail hand. Edward shook it stunned, feeling the hard metal beneath the soft fabric and the implied trust behind the simple gesture.

The Princess joined Olga by the door and then paused, "Um, sir, Fullmetal, may I write you?"

"Write me?" Ed repeated.

"You already get letters from an emperor, what more would some letters from a princess be?" she said.

He smiled like a school boy. "Sure, I'd like that."

Holly waved adieu. The door clicked shut, and Edward dropped his body into the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if waiting for the sky to fall. "Sure, I'd like that a lot."


	4. Chapter 4

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to _assume_ that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".

[I may occasionally use actual French or German when I feel the original sounds better or means something slightly different than the English version. And I may not translate it all, sorry.]

* * *

When the first letter arrived two weeks later, Edward wasn't sure he wanted to read it. He held it in his hands for an eternity as if the weight of all the possibilities hidden inside could crack titanium plating. Schrödinger's Cat and Pandora's Box all wrapped and flattened into an envelope.

But as the seconds ticked loudly by, _not_ knowing became even more unbearable. He unfolded the cream paper; her cursive danced across the page in mathematically perfected arches and loops.

The first half was in ungrammatical Amestrian; a general introduction with wishes of wellness and interest in how life went. The second half was written in formal Cretan, commenting on a few of her experiences in Central before delving into more pressing questions about alchemy.

Edward responded back in Cretan (damn, he could speak it, but he knew his spelling would be shit), taking more time than with his reports, but still coming out with an egregiously shaky script.

And so it went. The first few letters exchanged started out professionally cordial: discussions of cultural differences, questions and answers for alchemy, talk of the general weather, comings and goings of mundane events.

After a few weeks, more personal inquiries and statements began to sneak in: a comment about General Bastard here, a complaint about mother-hen Olga there; a forward-thinking plea for more democratic nations, a bitter essay concerning self-righteous parliament members.

Holly lovingly described her hobbies of fencing and horseback riding ( _cousin Leo snapped his foil, after losing to me three times)_. Edward quickly made up a hobby to compensate, setting himself the task of learning the Xingese written characters ( _really more of a necessity than a hobby, as few alkahestry books available have been translated_.)

Edward didn't even notice when she dropped the stiff Amestrian _sie_ for _du_ , or when he subconsciously responded by moving from _vous_ to _tu._

And it continued to snowball, until Edward was writing as if he'd known her for ages, rambling on about any little thing. _Why do toasters only have two settings? Freakin' dry or damn-well burnt_. Holly followed suit, though in more polite language. _Heavens, I can't believe why any self-respecting woman would go about in heels; they are a thoroughly detestable invention_.

Her letters, he suspected, were being sent under the radar. The return address on the front wasn't the palace. And she addressed the letters simply to Edward and signed only as Holly, so he did the same in reverse. It made it easy for him to forget he was writing to royalty.

Letter by letter, word by word. Edward Elric felt his heart making ample space for the young lady, even as he tried to stop himself, even as he logically suspected it would collapse into a pain worse than passing through the Gate.

Towards the middle of January, Edward received a short report from Holly about her success with alchemy – she'd made a glass jug for Olga, complete with swirling patterns based on different chemical imperfections – and then she made a personal request that had Edward seeing stars.

 _I do hope we can be reacquainted while I'm in Central. And, to be truthful, I'm terribly curious what you look like with your hair down._

XXXXXXX

The Cretan delegation would be back in Central in three days, and Fuhrer Grumman had personally assigned security to General Mustang and his men. Though not public knowledge, there had been two assassination attempts against Cretan aristocracy in the past couple months (a group of anti-royalists, descended from Aerugo refugees, had been blamed), and all precautions would be taken, even in Amestris.

Mustang's men, however, were not thrilled.

"Seriously, we have to babysit spoiled dignitaries," said Havoc, "I'd rather do latrine duty."

"Do not assign me the Princess, sir," said Falman, "I'm really sick of getting people that wander off from me."

"Yeah, seriously, that's more work than the rest of them combined," said Breda.

"You get what you get," said Mustang. He pulled a slip of paper out of the hat, "Havoc, assigned to Lord Sevoir and his wife. Breda, guard duty at the forward post outside the embassy. Fullmetal, Princess Francesca…."

The General continued to pull out names, but Lt. Colonel Elric was a thousand miles away crashing and burning in a fiery display of Murphy's Law. How could he guard someone so, so distracting? How could he even fully function in her presence? Part of him didn't even want to meet her again, to discover all his reading-between-the-lines had been an idiot's runaway fantasy.

The meeting adjourned. He approached the General. "Sir, I request that I be reassigned, I need to say that—"

"I don't care what you have to say. I am your commanding officer, and I've given you an assignment. Sorry, if you ended up with the short stick; try your hardest not to lose her."

"Damn it! Mustang, listen, I just think it would cause a conflict if I—"

"I don't care if you're concerned about causing an incident with your temper," Mustang pushed up his glasses, "You're not a child anymore, Fullmetal. Control your-damn-self. You don't need to interact with her, just stand there. End of discussion. Here are the papers. Have a nice day."

Edward huffed away and slammed his fist into a cabinet, muttering, "I tried. If anything happens, he can't say I didn't try to tell him."

"What'd you need to tell, boss?" asked Havoc.

"That princesses are incredible pains-in-the-asses," said Edward, redirecting the Lieutenant's curiosity.

"Don't feel too bad," said Breda, and he wagged his eyebrows, "at least it will be a nice view."

Edward flipped Breda from his chair and stormed out of the office.

"What was that about?" asked Fury as he helped Breda up.

"Not sure, but he sure does seem high-strung," said Havoc, "He must have some serious sexual frustrations goin' on." The other gentlemen nodded in agreement.

XXXXXXX

Winter in Central City was unusually bloody cold this year; the temperature dipped below freezing for days, bursting pipes and overloading furnaces. The only consolation was the current average snowfall: zero inches.

So Edward Elric walked to the Cretan Embassy on a stunningly cloudless and star-filled evening, not a speck of snow on the ground, feeling the creeping frostbite from his winter automail and the tight tingle of anxiety spreading across his chest.

Edward unfolded a paper out of his jacket pocket and scanned it to distract himself. Earlier that day, Mustang had distributed a Cretan etiquette memo to all his officers. Ed skipped to the part about the Princess.

· You must address her as Princess Francesca, Your Highness, or Your Royal Highness.

· Only polite bows. No handshakes. (Touching royalty is considered rude in Creta.)

· You are to stand at a designated post or walk one foot behind her.

· Do not stare directly into royalty's eyes. (This is considered rude in Creta.)

· Do not initiate conversation unless it is an emergency.

He didn't bother to finish reading. He clapped his hands, turned the memo into a fancy paper airplane, and sent it flying into a sidewalk trashcan.

At the Embassy, they inspected his silver watch and paperwork closely before granting him a brass clearance badge and directing him to the second floor. All the oak doors looked the same, but Olga standing guard was hard to miss.

She stared down at him, "Oy, the runt alchemist is back." Edward squeezed his automail fist, and a vein in his forehead pulsed. Olga laughed, "I joke with you Fullmetal. It is good to see my Princess happy. Your letters never fail to brighten her mood." She gave him a hearty pat on the back.

Edward regained his balance and managed a weak, "Really?"

Olga smiled like a Cheshire cat and tossed the young alchemist into the room. "Your Amestris bodyguard, Your Highness!"

The Princess sat on the floor by the fireplace; books and random bits of materials scattered in front of her. Her emerald eyes glowed in awe of the words on the page. The copper of her hair absorbed and reflected the dancing flames like the energy in a Philosopher's Stone.

The universe shifted inside Edward. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to broach the subject? What if all he was, was a silly soldier to entertain a lonely princess? Or perhaps a lonely princess looking merely for a sincere friend? And what if she rejected him, became offended, declared **war** on Amestris for his impudence!

Also, Edward desperately wanted to spend time with her, he dared not rush and risk this opportunity before it had even begun! And although they'd reacted well in theory, on paper, he wondered how well they would react in practice, in person for long stretches of the day.

I'll do something in a _few_ days, he promised himself; his feet growing colder in their military-issued boots.

She looked up and beamed, "Edward?!" She said his name! With a lovely Cretan accent! Edward felt all the oil drain out of his automail, leaving him weak in the joints.

"Holly," he responded in kind as the outside world melted away.

She patted the ground beside her and spoke in Cretan, "Come, come, do sit with me. Come test me on the elements. I bet I have everything about them memorized now! Even basic carbon-based molecules, I can do it! Don't go easy on me!"

"Never," said Edward. And they slid back into their roles, playing the safe charade of teacher and student.

Edward could only become more enamored with her as she recited the periodic table of elements without a pause, explained the basic structures and differences of cyclical carbon molecules, and demonstrated deftly her transmutation of sand into a glass mug.

"This one is for you," she said, "Do you approve of it?"

Ed inspected in the firelight. The handle was the serpentine bodies of two dragons, whose fierce heads came to rest near the foot of the glass. Their detailed scales were tinged with reds and blues, the addition of trace concentrations of selenium and cobalt oxide.

"Wow," said Ed, grateful that the radiant heat from the fire hid the ruddiness of his cheeks, "You sure figured out my style."

He turned to find Holly had inched closer to him, probably to gauge his reaction, and her emerald eyes hypnotized him; trace amounts of chromium, tin oxide, arsenic, he listed to himself, as if they were delicate orbs of colored glass.

The door opened and Olga announced, "Dinner is ready, Your Highness."

As Olga and the Princess headed to the formal dining room, a young Cretan servant showed Edward to a battered table in the back of the embassy's kitchen. He joined several other servants and guards to indulge in some of the kitchen's extras for their meal break, including a dozen tiny mincemeat pies that had come out too browned to be served at the royal table.

Two Cretan privates sniggered to each other. Edward perked up his ears.

"Look, Maurice, can you believe they sent that to be Her Highness's guard. Must be a joke! Amestrians giving us the snub. Ce gringalet est une insulte a Creta."

"Seriously, how old is he anyway? Eh, Jean, you think he needs a booster seat?"

"I don't understand why our country needs peace with them. If someone like that can become a soldier, I bet we could crush them easily," said Maurice.

"I never understood why we concentrated so many forces on petty skirmishes with Pendleton. We should've just taken the whole damn western region!" Jean declared.

Ed's right hand, hidden beneath the table edge, slowly bent a steal spoon in half. As much as he wanted to pummel the two officers into pulp or use such an outrageous show of alchemy that they'd be traumatized into submission, he knew he had to keep his temper in check, for the sake of his country, his job, and his current assignment.

He thought of making a snide remark in Cretan, but liked having a secret advantage up his sleeve. If everyone assumed he couldn't understand their language, what more kind of information might they accidentally reveal to him?

The kitchen door burst open and a tall auburn-haired dandy walked in reciting bad poetry. He spun a few of the prettier pantry maids around and kissed them playfully on the cheek, tickling them with his handlebar mustache.

"Oh, Prince Leopold," twittered one girl.

Prince Leopold? Leo? Edward recalled Holly mentioning a cousin Leo a few times, but based on her description – ignorant, rash, and prone to tantrums – he'd assumed she was writing about a child.

"Go, eat," said the Prince in poorly pronounced Amestrian, giving orders to his guard as you would a dog. Capt. Falman walked out from the shadows and came to join Lt. Colonel Elric at the table.

"Falman?" said Edward.

"I'm really not sure I can take much more of this," Falman said, turning gray in the face.

The Prince suddenly became very animated, nearly dropping another girl in mid-spin. He pointed excitedly to Edward before dashing out of the kitchen. He returned with a lady receptionist to translate.

"Uh, His Royal Highness is curious. You are Lt. Colonel Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist?" the lady asked.

Edward took a bite of bread and chewed loudly, "Yeah, what about it?"

"His Royal Highness would be interested in an alchemy demonstration," she said, "Can you turn the chair into gold for him?"

"No. You cannot change organic matter into inorganic matter. And you cannot change the basic chemical elements into another element anyway." [see footnote] Edward listened intently as the receptionist tried to explain this to the Prince, which required her to _define_ inorganic and organic. The Prince stamped a foot and crossed his arms.

"Oh well, he is, uh, disappointed by this. Any small demonstration would put him at ease, I assure you," she pleaded.

Edward grimaced that he was being treated like a jester, but then there was Mustang's annoyingly oiled voice in the back of his head whispering, _diplomacy_.

"Fine," He said, taking off his gloves. At the reveal of his automail, the Prince's eyebrows raised high. Edward clapped his hands and formed a serrated blade from his plating and in one large swoosh, cut a roasted game hen in half. Jean and Maurice jumped in their seats.

"Oh my!" cried a pantry maid.

The Prince smiled wide, "C'est absolument ahurrisant! Vous etes formidable. Merci, merci!" He turned away laughing and headed out the door.

"He has a short attention span," explained Falman.

Ed scrunched his face in disgust and muttered to himself, "I can't believe she can be related to him."

Meanwhile, the two Cretan officers had recovered from their shock and continued to openly discuss the demerits of Amestrians, safe in the belief that the two blue-clad soldiers were none the wiser.

"Hell, Jean, that pipsqueak is a State Alchemist! I can't believe His Majesty allowed him to guard the Princess."

"And so vulgar! My those alchemists do like to show off."

"And look at him, stuffing his face! Don't they know a meal is to be savored and contemplated."

"Amestrians are such barbarians. Horrible table manners."

"Maybe he could transmute his hand into a shovel if he's going to eat like _that_!"

Another minute more and there would definitely be an international "misunderstanding." Ed abruptly stood up to leave, dropping his now twisted fork and spoon onto the table. Jean and Maurice blinked befuddled at the mutilated utensils.

With his ears burning as if venting steam, Edward ventured towards the formal dining room. Olga stood at attention against the wall opposite the room's entrance, along with several other guards.

"You can wait with me," she said curtly. Edward took a position beside her, irked by the comparison they must've made – the colossus and the ant.

The dessert course didn't start wrapping up until around nine o'clock. You could hear the loud guffaws of the Prince Leopold, telling the death-defying tale of "the crazed alchemist in the kitchen cutting tables in half."

Then the gruff voice of the Prince Regent scorning alchemy as "a pretentious attempt to play god."

At this point, Princess Francesca politely excused herself.

Edward brushed crumbs off his jacket and stood up straighter. A servant held open half the double door, and the Princess walked out regally poised and upright, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She headed toward the stairs without even a glance at him, as if he was part of the wallpaper or a piece of hallway furniture.

Olga followed a step behind Her Royal Highness; Edward followed Olga feeling snubbed.

But he acknowledged the rules of the game they were playing: Just like the letters had been under the radar, so too was their budding friendship (and whatever potential he imagined). Frustration bubbled inside him at all the political and cultural lines and boxes that restricted people's lives.

And as the Princess rose above him on the grand staircase, Edward began to realize what a fool's errand he'd set himself on, tricking himself in all those letters that she was "simply Holly," unwilling to confront the wide gap in their positions and the possibility that he would forever be stuck below, pining at the unattainable.

He began to understand what Hawkeye and Mustang went through; Hawkeye always walking a step behind, incapable of reaching out to the raven-haired man that she admired and adored (and occasionally threatened lovingly with a pistol). Or at least, that's what Edward _saw_.

If Edward could have a secret friendship with a member of the Cretan royalty, he internally smirked to imagine what happened when Riza and Roy found themselves behind closed doors. And yet, Ed's thought soured, it still made them prisoners of their fantasy, locked by walls of reality.

So Edward Elric had to ask himself, Was it worth it to live a lie to the world if it meant you could experience even a minute of truth? What value _did_ truth have if it had to be wrapped in a lie?

It was as maddening as when he'd first gone in search of _the_ stone, only to discover its ingredients. And yet, the fact that something so legendary had existed at all darkly gave him hope.

Nothing was impossible, right?

 **Footnote:** Regardless of the fact that "transmuting gold" is listed as an alchemy taboo in the series, I'm going with the idea that alchemy is essentially a chemical art, an ability to control and affect the elements, their combinations and structures, but _not_ the ability to change one element into another.

 **Author's Note:** I apologize if this chapter is a bit expository heavy. I promise it is setup for later down the road. _Nothing I mention is useless._ If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes (in any language) please let me know. Comments welcome! Also, from this point forward I plan to upload a new chapter every Sunday.


	5. Chapter 5

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to _assume_ that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".

[I may occasionally use actual French or German when I feel the original sounds better or means something slightly different than the English version. And I may not translate it all, sorry.]

* * *

 _It was as maddening as when he'd first gone in search of the stone, only to discover its ingredients. And yet, the fact that something so legendary had existed at all darkly gave him hope._

 _Nothing was impossible, right?_

Edward had sunk so deep into thought he didn't realize they'd reached the second flood. A near-collision with Olga's imposing back snapped him to attention, and he stumbled to a halt. The doors of the bedchamber opened and the three of them stepped inside.

Away from the prying eyes, bound by the walls of their game, Princess Francesca became Holly again and turned to acknowledge Ed, beaming warmly with dimpled cheeks and smiling eyes. Ed forgave and forgot in an instant.

Holly opened her hands to reveal a decadent chocolate pastry wrapped in a cotton napkin. "They never share these in the kitchen," she explained.

"Oh, thanks," Ed said, taking a ravenous bite, "Oh my gosh, this is fantastic! This would've totally been on Al's list!"

"I'm glad you like it," she started to fidget with her gloves. "Well, um, good night, Edward," she bowed and stepped slowly away across the room, until she disappeared behind the washroom door.

"She never save me pastry before," said Olga, a bit miffed, leering over Edward as if she considered stealing it.

Edward sighed; he really wanted to stay on this scary woman's good side. "Here, have a piece."

"You are good man," she said and popped it into her mouth, "Well, you have been acquainted with things now, I hope. I think we should start rotation. You have from 5 to 5 night, I have 5 to 5 day. Of course, there should be a slight overlap. I say plan to be fifteen minutes early." Olga handed him a small notebook with Her Highness's schedule. [see footnote]

"So, I stand here," he walked to a spot just outside the door.

Olga smiled and pointed to a chair, table, and paltry candle by the western window. "No, for night, you guard inside the room. There are already guards at the end of the hallway."

Ed turned white as a sheet, and his blood pooled low. "What inside! While she's sleeping! Wouldn't it make more sense for you to have—"

"No, I'm sick of evening," Olga sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had a migraine, "It is too much on my nerves."

Edward raised an eyebrow, "What do you—"

But Olga was already hurrying down the hall. She waved over her shoulder, "Have good night. See you 4:45 my Fullmetal friend."

Edward hung his head and grumbled, "I think I've just been tricked somehow." He shut the bedroom door and took his seat. He heard Holly humming a waltz, and as her voice grew closer to the washroom door, Ed's heart started beating like the chug of a steam engine about to crash into a ravine.

She came out of the washroom and halted in misstep. Her cheeks darkened to match her silk pajamas. Edward's eyes flittered from her eyes, to her lips, to her chest in a hot awkward second, finally settling his sight safely on her clasped hands, surprised to still see gloves.

"Oh, Edward! Where is Olga?" Holly said concerned.

"Uh, she, uh, she," Edward stuttered to find his voice in the booming blood rushing through his eardrums, "she, uh, gave me the nightshift."

Holly narrowed her eyes, "Oh, that woman! Really! It hasn't happened in ages!"

"What hasn't happened?" he asked, immediately latching onto to his innate curiosity to distract him from a rising panic attack (oh, how Mustang and Alphonse would have a field day teasing him if they discovered the great Fullmetal Alchemist's turned into a quivering mess before a single woman).

"Nothing, nothing," Holly said, "Everything _should_ be fine. I do apologize she put you up to this. She's been requesting to have morning shifts for awhile. Although…she must truly have taken a liking to you. I've never known her to switch shifts with um, uh, a gentleman, before."

"Ah," said Ed, squeezing his hands so tight together he wondered if his right could break his left. Damn it! Why couldn't he calm himself down? Hadn't he been alone with Holly before? Well, he considered, maybe not quite; the library was public space, the balcony had been during a crowded ball, and the last two times Olga had been a gunshot away.

"Edward?" said Holly.

Ed automatically lifted his eyes and found himself hypnotized. They stared silently for an agonizing eternity-crammed-in-a-minute, each second with the weight of decades. They stared intently as if willing an answer to a question to write itself in the air, instead a vibrating magnetic field seemed to be building up. For one frantic heartbeat, Ed imagined Holly had moved in closer, or he'd simply become overly fixated on translating the myriad of green hues in her irises.

Holly abruptly turned away, grabbing up a brush from the dresser and smoothing out her _already_ immaculate hair. The magnetism crashed into a background hum that sent goose bumps across Ed's left arm.

"I must go to bed now," she ordered herself and started to babble, "it was a terribly tiring journey. I am so happy to sleep in a real bed and not a sleeping car this evening. Goodness, half a day by auto and three days by train is too much. And the auto was so terribly bumpy; I must speak with the transportation committee about setting aside some funds to pave more of our roads."

Ed's body and mind rollercoastered down into an emotionally exhausted heap of metal and flesh. He pried his hands apart and slouched back in the chair.

"Hm, yeah, yeah, long train rides suck," said Ed, struggling to come up with something coherent. He scanned over every aspect of the room _but_ her – a fencing foil, doe-skinned riding boots, half-finished needle point of blue flowers – finally focusing on a familiar silver cube at the corner of her desk.

He heard the sheets and duvet shuffle as Holly crawled into bed. Then the light from her bedside lamp went out, and Ed was left with the dim burn of his candle and the orange glow of the fireplace embers.

"Bonne nuit," she whispered.

"Schlaf gut," sighed Ed. [Sleep well, mostly used for friends and family.]

It had been a couple hours, and Ed could report that the Princess of Creta did not snore. He could also report that he was going absolutely insane sitting merely twenty feet from the sleeping form of a woman he had inappropriate feelings for.

He'd already gone through the periodic table to distract himself and was in the middle of listing the composition of basic organic compounds when he heard a muffled sob from the four post bed. He waited a second. A louder sob that sounded like, "Stop."

"Don't touch me, don't touch me," she whimpered and started to thrash, flailing her arms as if pushing something away, "Stop," she started to scream, "Don't look at me. Stop. I don't want to see! I don't want to see! Make it stop!"

"Holly! Damn it, wake up, Holly!" Edward called out. He leapt to her bedside and leaned over—her metal hand swung up and collided with the side of his head. "Ah, shit!" Ed stumbled sideways and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Make is stop!" Holly shot up and grabbed him around the neck, "Don't let me fall. Don't let me fall in." She latched onto him tighter as if something was pulling her under.

"Okay, okay," he assured her, wrapping his arms soundly around her waist. She nuzzled her face into his collar. Ed inhaled the lavender perfume of her hair and felt her hot tears sliding down his neck. His face burned, his hands started to sweat, and his whole body tingled hungrily for more. His heart raced itself right out of the ravine and into the clouds.

"Holly?" he said, running his flesh hand through her short, silk tresses, checking that it wasn't a dream, "Holly?" his voice quivered. She'd fallen back to asleep, if she'd ever been awake. He hugged her tightly, reluctant to let the moment pass into memory. But after a few more minutes, he laid her gently down and tucked her back in.

With the cold draft from the windows filling the distance between them, he sat down in his appointed chair.

Ed's heart strings sang a low empathetic note and his mind rampaged with an angry curiosity. What had terrified her so much? Was it about the accident that killed her parents? Had someone tried to hurt her as well? She'd said she'd been _afraid_ of alchemy. Had someone used alchemy to hurt Holly? What if her parents death wasn't an accident?

He had half a mind to wake her and ask the questions directly. But the last thing he wanted was to come off as a mad man. And now that she'd settled back to restful sleep, he hadn't the heart to wake her.

At 4:45 AM exactly there was a soft knock on the door. Edward stepped out into the bright hallway.

Olga motioned towards the bump on his head. "Oh, so not a good night I guess," she said, "I usually try not to get so close."

"Tell me what she was dreaming about," he demanded, pointing a threatening metal finger in her face.

"I don't know," said Olga, not the least bit offended by his boldness, "She never told me. Not my place to ask."

Edward began to wonder if this had been Olga's plan from the start, to catch the interest of the famously meddlesome Fullmetal Alchemist. Maybe Olga thought he could get information that she, bound by Cretan propriety, tradition, and law, was unable to.

And damn it, he would get some answers.

XXXXXXX

Edward spent a couple hours back at his apartment poring over Holly's letters, looking if she'd given any hints, but instead he found the exact opposite. Whereas Ed had mentioned funny childhood antics with his brother and Winry, and even moments spent with his mother, Francesca had glaring left such things out. All her conversations were about _current_ events or thoughts.

Hours later, Ed started awake, rolling right off the couch onto the carpet, along with several sheets of cream paper. Rubbing the sleep out of his face, he tried to unscramble his thoughts. He'd been dreaming about the night he'd attempted human transmutation. He remembered being forced into the gate and the words he'd cried.

"…It's too much. It's too much. Make it stop!" _I don't want to see it! Make it stop!_ Holly's words, they were so similar….

Ed glanced at the clock, 3:30 in the afternoon. He threw on his uniform and rushed out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall and shattered on the floor.

The cold snap had ended; 34 degrees was practically a heat wave. With his coat open to the wind, he marched briskly across the parade grounds to Central's Intelligence Wing, radiating such determination that other officers practically dived out of his way.

Ed jogged around a corner on the first floor and right into Sheska. She smacked onto the floor, and her stack of papers scattered everywhere.

"Oh, forgive me, sir," she said stuttered, but then looked up and sighed relieved, "Edward!"

Ed couldn't believe his luck. He took her by the arm and yanked her upright. Skipping niceties, he got straight to the point: "Have you read anything about Creta have you? Military reports or otherwise."

"Well, yeah, sure I have," she said, pushing her glasses back up her nose and feeling like Ed's stern stare might turn her into stone, "but that's a big subject. What did you want to know?"

Ed got down on his knees and started to put her files back together. "Do you have any information on that accident that killed Ho—Princess Francesca's parents?"

"Oh you mean the weird earthquake?"

"Earthquake? I thought it was an accident. Wait, what do you mean by weird?" He handed the papers back to her.

"Thank you. Hmmm, well, let's see, Creta is naturally prone to seismic activity, but…" she tapped her chin, shuffling through the mental filing cabinets in her head, "from what I can put together, this one only affected a single village. And then it caved into a giant sinkhole. None of the other villages nearby reported a single tremor. At least according to the geological records."

Edward rubbed his chin and muttered to himself, "Just one village? Could it have been human transmutation? Like Xerxes?" He turned his attention back to Sheska, "What about survivors?"

"Survivors, well, Princess Francesca was the only survivor found in the town proper. I think there were others who'd been in the surrounding area. The record was kind of vague."

"Definitely sounds suspicious. Um, Sheska, I didn't ask you anything, okay. And I owe you one," he said and took off running down the hall.

"Actually you owe me like three by now, but who's keeping count," she mumbled to herself.

XXXXXXX

The Cretan delegation (minus the Prince Regent who was in private discussions with the Fuhrer) had insisted on visiting the Grand Park for the Winter Art Display. General Mustang had tried to take it off the schedule, citing security difficulties with such a public event, but Prince Leopold had ignored him.

The tall hedgerows were lit up with strips of blue lights, and the stone pathways were lined with tall torches that burning with purple flames. Ice sculptures dotted the landscape, and the craftsman and alchemist of Central pulled no punches with their skill and artistry.

Edward and Olga switched positions without comment, though Ed noticed the Princess's cheeks go from cold-nipped-pink to hot-red. A couple times he thought he caught her staring at him, and once, she seemed so away with the fairies that she tripped into Prince Leopold, who had paused to admire a red-lit sculpture of a leaping nine-tailed fox.

Did she remember last night? he wondered, Was she embarrassed? A million questions overfilled his mind, but not a single word could be spoken until they found a private moment. Edward frustratingly fidgeted with his pocket watch, popping it open and closed, sometimes actually glancing at the time to see barely a few minutes had passed since last he'd checked.

"This one is brilliant!" he heard Holly exclaim in Amestrian. It took him two slow seconds to realize she was talking to him.

"Oh?" Ed looked up at the sculpture, an intricate architectural piece with multiple buildings and levels held up with columns. The corners of the ice-carved tiled roofs flared up and strange snarling dog-like gargoyles dotted the edges.

"It's the Xing Palace," she explained. Prince Leopold rolled his eyes, and giving a low "Tuttut," sauntered away to follow the rest of the delegates. Edward was only too happy to see the mustached dandy leave Holly's side.

"Ling, er, Emperor Yao, lives in _that_!" Ed finally commented, trying to sound jocular, even as the back of his mind still conjured ups nagging worries and concerns. He didn't know if Holly was just making small talk to fill the time, or if she herself was impatient to have the conversation about last night. At the moment, he didn't care; she was giving him attention in public! Edward felt like the luckiest man in the whole park; hell, he felt like the only one in the park.

"Yes, it's much more majestic than the old castles in Creta," she said, "but very few are allowed into the Forbidden City of Xing."

"Eh, I'm sure I'd be allowed in," Ed shrugged.

"You do seem to have a way with royalty," she whispered.

Edward imagined having "a way" with her small pink mouth. His frozen face heated up in an instant, and he shamefully looked away… and saw an odd shine in the corner of his sight.

Alchemy can be a bit slow in certain circumstances, especially when it is the subconscious that reacts before the conscious has had time to catch up. So when Edward saw the out-of-place glint in the distance, on a roof of a building he knew no one should have access to, he didn't stop to think when he grabbed the Princess and sharply spun her around.

The roof on the Xing Palace shattered into shards of ice and the two dived to the ground, Holly's automail forearm breaking the fall.

"A sharpshooter!" a young officer cried panicked, rushing the other delegates towards safety.

Edward rolled off of Holly, hands ready to clap, but the roof was empty. The adrenaline rushing through his system started to dissipate, and Edward could feel stinging, wet heat dripping down into his shirt and a stabbing pain in his back. Growing lightheaded, he lay back down on the hard pathway. His hand reflexively put pressure onto his neck, and he felt thick, hot blood gush between his fingers.

Holly had already started to panic over him, watching as more blood pooled from under his torso and rushed in crimson rivulets in the grout of the stone. She found no exit wound on the front of his jacket.

"Ow," croaked Edward.

"Don't move, just, just, hold still," she stuttered in Cretan, looking around for help, but seeing everyone had run for cover.

"Not going anywhere, honest," he whispered. Then his eyes rolled back; his head and arm went limp.

Holly pressed her right hand onto the gash across his carotid artery, ignoring the red soaking into her glove. She felt herself hyperventilating. The color in Edward's face was fast draining, and his breathing had become disconcertingly shallow. She stared down, so much blood! And yet the pooling had slowed, the edges freezing into pink crystals on the unthawed stone.

"Merde!" Holly gritted her teeth, desperate to save him. She brought her hands together. Clap!

* * *

Footnote: In such cases as security and medical, longer shifts are often preferred to prevent mistakes from transitions and miscommunication. In such cases, people would be compensated with getting a week off after a couple weeks on the longer shifts.

Author's note: **Comments are always appreciated.** I don't know, does this chapter feel choppy? I've been tinkering with it all week. Feel free to mention any grammar errors; I'm always willing to go back and fix them.


	6. Chapter 6

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to _assume_ that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".

[I may occasionally use actual French or German when I feel the original sounds better or means something slightly different than the English version.]

* * *

General Roy Mustang had left work only an half hour ago. He sat on his couch still in uniform nursing his second drink when the insistent knock came. Grumbling about setting the next person who bothered him on fire, he got up and opened the door.

"Whatever it is I'm not—"

"S-s-sir," a jittery young private saluted him, clearly terrified of being burned as the messenger.

Mustang hung his head, thinking of only one reason why someone from headquarters would dare bother him at home. "What did Fullmetal do now? Please tell me he hasn't started an international incident."

"Um, no, sir. He was shot, sir."

"What!" Mustang's eyes widened, and the scotch hit the floor.

"There was an assassination attempt at the Grand Park. Fullmetal Alchemist has been moved to the Central Infirmary, sir. Critical condition. Several other injuries reported, but all minor, sir."

Mustang eyebrows furrowed as he threw on his wool coat and shoved the young officer out of the way. Fullmetal sure did know how to get into trouble, but this time Mustang couldn't say he wasn't doing his job. He only hoped it wasn't as serious as the private made it sound.

General Mustang arrived at Fullmetal's hospital room, surprised to find Her Highness's herculean guard blocking the door. Captain Olga De Lion stared down at the General as if he was a pesky insect to be quickly squashed.

Though outwardly collected, Mustang found the Cretan Captain as intimidating as Olivier Armstrong. And worse, the Captain never spoke and never responded to any of the Amestrian officer's salutes, a perfect unbreakable giant a mere offense away from crushing bones into flour.

"Ma'am," he said, putting on a straight face, but feeling the blood rush out of his limbs, "I've come to see my officer."

She seriously considered his request for a couple minutes, before stepping aside to allow him entrance.

Mustang breath hitched at the sight of Edward Elric, the loud boisterous pain-in-the-ass, laying ashen and lifeless, a thick bandage wrapped around his neck, dried brown blood caked in his braid and between the crevices of his automail.

Then his attention turned to the Princess of Creta, who sat by the bedside, missing one glove, staring at her hands. Specks of red still dotted lace scarf, and the cuff of her right sleeve looked soaked.

"Your Highness," he said, slipping into a concerned, diplomatic tone, "Are you alright?" He wished he'd come prepared with a translator.

She nodded, but her eyes stayed glued on Ed. "He lost a lot of blood and they say his liver was grazed," she said in Amestrian. Though her pronunciation wasn't perfect, the General was relieved to notice her grammar and vocabulary had much improved since her previous visit. "They said he will be fine, but he may not wake up for couple days."

"He's one of our finest officers and alchemists. He's pulled through worse," said Mustang, thinking of all the hell the Elric boys had managed to climb through. Still, Fullmetal had never been _shot_ before (or at least not to his knowledge); it was unnerving to Mustang. Yet on the flipside, the damn kid was probably going to get a promotion out of this stunt.

"Indeed," muttered the Princess, and Mustang half-wondered if she was just referring to all the rumors about the young alchemist or something more.

A musical rhythm rapped on the door. Prince Leopold popped in without further ado, a tear in his jacket and a bandage over his forehead. He ignored the General and leapt to the Princess, immediately panicking over her appearance. They chattered in quick Cretan, and Mustang could only understand a few words: "un gardien d'or" and "la recompense special."

Prince Leopold nodded along with the Princess. Then he took her by the hand, and the two moved to take their leave. The Princess paused by the door and turned to the General.

"I am indebted to your officer and your country, sir," she said and took a small bow.

Mustang reciprocated with his own, "It was our duty, Your Highness." The door shut, and Mustang let himself relax and sprawl out in the chair.

"Damn, Fullmetal," Mustang chuckled, "For being so small you managed to make the biggest impression yet." He stared at the young man, really wishing he would suddenly pop up and act snarky. Mustang sighed, knowing he had to call Alphonse and Winry, and really hoping the former picked up the phone.

XXXXXXX

"This is not what I meant by coming to visit Central! Why do you always take the dangerous jobs. Why not guard someone who people don't try to shoot, huh?" shouted Winry, as she started unscrewing Ed's automail arm so she could clean out all the coagulated blood.

Edward winced at the strident pitch and looked down at his lap, "Hn."

"And you clearly haven't been cleaning this properly in the first place!"

"Hn."

"Ug, I'm gonna have to dismantle the whole rotational cuff to get this blood out," she said, peering between the pieces with a small flashlight.

"Hn," was all Ed continued to say.

Winry paused, having expected some yelling or insults by now, "You okay?" He didn't respond. "Ed?"

"Sorry, I'm just thinking about—," About what? He couldn't tell them he was thinking about Holly, about all the bits and pieces he'd been putting together, about how he was hoping for her to be there when he woke up. How he'd actually been _disappointed_ when it was just his brother and mechanic in the room.

Alphonse sat in the chair opposite Winry. He placed a reassuring hand on Ed's. "I'm glad you're alright brother." Al's voice then lowered like a mother lecturing a child, "but really cauterizing the wounds with frostbite, that was a risky move, even for you."

"With frostbite, but I—" Ed's mind connected the dots quickly, Holly had performed alchemy to save him! But how could she have come up with the permutations for the circle array? Or even have time to draw it? Unless…"Um, right, I promise, won't do it again," he muttered.

Alphonse and Winry exchanged a look. Ed was acting weird, well, weirder.

A few minutes later, Winry had removed the last screw and loosened the last nerve connection, "You ready?"

"No," Ed said honestly.

"Alright, on three. One, two—"

There was a pounding on the door that made them collectively jump, followed by a strong booming voice, "Permission to visit, Lt. Colonel Elric?"

Ed rolled his eyes, wondering if Olga had only two modes, subtle and ridiculous. Al raised a questioning eyebrow, and Ed nodded to him. Al went over and opened the door, a bit apprehensive for what could be looming on the other side, but was relieved to see a petite kind-faced lady.

Princess Francesca entered dressed in the formal country clothes of Creta, plus her iconic cardigan and gloves.

"Bonjour," she bowed politely towards them all, but then set her sights on Edward.

"Bonjour," echoed Ed his eyes lighting up and smiling from cheek to cheek. The two fell into a daze, as if they were the only ones in the room.

Winry gave Al a sly smile and wagged her eyebrows. Al noticed how Ed's face had turned pink. He looked between his brother and the new girl and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering if Ed had finally managed not to scare away a date and curious why he hadn't mentioned her.

Meanwhile, Winry decided to make use of Ed's distraction.

"—three!" Winry yanked the arm out. The Princess jumped back at the sight.

"Oh my god, what the bloody hell, Winry!" Ed yelled, cringing with tears welling up in his eyes.

"Suck it," she said.

"Uhhhh," the Princess had paled. She stared at his armless shoulder and grabbed her own reflexively.

"Y-y-you i-di-ot, uh, uh," Ed stuttered, quickly making sure Holly hadn't been offended. She gave him a weak but reassuring smile as she sympathetically rubbed her own shoulder. So her automail was indeed the whole arm, he thought.

"Now, you gonna stop being rude and introduce your _friend_ ," Winry said.

Ed cleared his throat and said in an overly pompous voice, "Alphonse Elric, Winry Rockbell, this is H–, the Princess Francesca."

Winry blinked and blushed embarrassed by her actions, "P-p-p-rincess?"

"It nice to finally meet you," she said to them in Amestrian.

"Finally?" Alphonse whispered to himself.

She then turned to Edward, her features darkening, "Mon guardian d'or il faut que je te parle en prive."

Alphonse, of course, understood Cretan, and looked pointedly at his brother and mouthed, "Golden guardian?"

Ed ignored him and politely ordered "Hey, Al, Win, go get lunch. Maybe pick me up some pastries? And take your time, maybe go for a walk."

"Uh, sure brother," Alphonse said, pausing to look between the Princess and his brother, thinking he could almost sense them communicating secrets through glances alone. He then led a slightly shocked Winry out of the room, explaining to her exactly who Princess Francesca was.

"Oh my god," they heard Winry yell out in the hall, "That's who he saved! She's gonna be Queen of a whole country!"

"Sorry about that," Ed said speaking in Cretan.

"No, it's fine. They are just like you described." Holly sat down at his bedside and looked down at her clean, blue gloves. "Edward?"

"Holly?" He wasn't sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, she took a deep breath and asked without preamble, "Why can you do alchemy without a transmutation circle?"

Edward was surprised she hadn't asked this question earlier during their lessons, "Well, actually, I am the circle, that's why I put my hands together."

She took her first transmutation out of her pocket, the small silver block. She stared down at it as if it was both a treasure and a curse. "You don't need to protect me! Tell me Edward, you've seen it too, haven't you."

"Seen what?" He asked, fearing he could guess the answer – her missing arm, her nightmares, the strange circumstances of her parents' death, the quick transmutation of his injury.

Holly eyes watered but no tears fell. She clapped her hands together and the cube of silver was once again a chain, "The truth."

XXX

She was six years old, joining her parents on a harvest tour from village to village. They'd reached the round village of Eguisheim and were greeted with a lovely autumn parade with Morris dancers wearing bells on their shins and cloggers wearing their decorative wooden shoes.

Holly had been promised a pony by the head of the village, and the Princess simply couldn't wait until the next day. She exchanged her navy coat and silk scarf for a peasant girl's patched brown cloak, and naturally, ducked her guard, running off through the lavender fields towards the stables.

She'd found her gift in the second stall, a rare akhal-teke shining like gold. Her mane was well braided with several small bows and a beautifully embossed leather saddle hung off to the side. Holly introduced herself, picking up a brush and starting to groom her.

Then a bright red light went off in the distance. She worried she was missing the fireworks, and hurried back to the village. She took a shortcut, climbing over a sheep fence, cutting her hand in the process.

When she returned, she found the city a grave full of emaciated corpses, and as she stepped into the village proper, she noticed the red glow emanating from lines on the walkway. She saw the bodies of her parents, looking like something from a nightmare, and she collapsed to her knees, the blood from her palm dripped onto the ground and the lines glowed even brighter.

The ground began to shake, the pavement fell into the sewers; sinkholes devoured the buildings one by one.

Then the eye, the hands that streamed out and touched her, the painful deconstruction and reconstruction of her body as if she was made up of so many miniscule bricks, the white blinding expanse, the black door, the unyielding stream of information, and the payment of her arm.

She remembered being found by her young bodyguard, who'd apparently been out of the village looking for her. She remembered the pain of having automail grafted at the age of six, and then being expressly told by her Uncle to reveal it to no one ("an automail Princess is bad enough, but a one-armed Princess would be useless").

The people of Creta mourned the village of Eguisheim, destroyed so suddenly by an earthquake, and praised the miraculous survival of their Princess. Princess Francesca began to think part of her memory was a dream, a hallucination, a way to deal with the loss of her parents and her arm. She accepted the story told to her; after all, she was only a child.

XXX

"What about your bodyguard, what did he see?" asked Edward.

Holly shook her head, "I don't know. I never saw him again. I don't remember his name. And yet, I remember the arrays he used to draw, when he was bored and I was the only one watching. He made fractal patterns from frost, and once, he made a beautiful replica of my father's crown in ice."

"That explains my frostbite," Ed said.

" At first, I tried to express to my Uncle what I thought I'd seen, that I thought the village had been destroyed through alchemy – the red light, the blue lightning – but he laughed at me, laughed about 'children and their nightmares.' I started to believe it. It was just a nightmare, but a nightmare I couldn't forget."

"I know the feeling." Edward closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. "You've been honest with me. I feel I should be honest with you. I know, I know I can trust you, although quite frankly telling you some of this might be considered treason. And I'm gonna have to change some names and skip over some pieces; it just, it isn't my place to tell their part of it."

An hour later, Holly felt as if her heard would burst, like she'd been fed into the stream of truth all over again. "I'm not sure I can conceive of all of this," said Holly, "But Alphonse, he does have his body back now. And that, creature, Father, whatever he was, is gone."

Edward nodded. He rested back on his pillow closing his eyes, trying to temper the emotions building up in his ribcage. They'd bared their truths to each other, and he almost imagined that their souls had touched. He'd never been so connected with someone besides Alphonse; he wondered if this was how Alphonse felt about Winry, if this was what people meant when they tried to describe love. And yet love sounded like too shallow of a word.

Cold metal fingers gripped his flesh hand. He blinked and looked down in awe, as if he was seeing a piece of her half-neglected soul, dinged, scratched, and rusting around the edges.

Holly blushed deep red and gave him a coy smile that he knew was reserved only for him.

He interlaced his fingers with hers. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"It's not appropriate," she stuttered, "I just, still wish I could see you with your hair down."

"Oh," said Ed, feeling all his blood rush low.

Olga suddenly pounded on the door, "Young Ms. and Mr. have returned!"

Holly abruptly shot up, shoving her hand back in its glove as the door opened. She bowed to Al and Win in a rush, "I've, I've overstayed my visit, please excuse me."

"Oh, okay," said Al confused, "Well, it was an honor to meet you." He offered a handshake. Edward watched Holly stare down at it for a split second, almost as if she was trying to imagine it once being part of a suit of armor. Then she put on a polite face and simply bowed before stepping out. The action spoke volumes to Edward; only he was trusted.

Alphonse stared pointedly at his brother, "So, Ed, what was that about? Did the Princess of Creta want to thank you _or something?_ " He emphasized the last part with a hint of hurt; Ed was keeping stuff from him, stuff that involved another country, and a Princess, and clearly nasty assassins. Al's brain just started running off with itself what could possibly be going on, and he waited with bated breath for a concrete answer to stop his wild imagination.

But Ed looked away from him. "I'm sorry, Al," he said, "I can't."

"Oh," said Al a little deflated, "Okay."

"You're not mad at me?" Ed asked.

"No, but," Al paused and sat down in the chair, "you'll come to me if you need help, right?"

"And don't forget about me," said Winry stepping up and throwing down a box of pastries onto his lap, "Especially if you're going to do something stupid to your automail!"

"Of course," Ed said relieved and oddly comforted, hoping that Holly would eventually come around to trusting them. He opened the bakery box, "Why is there only ten, shouldn't this come in a dozen?"

"Oh, I gave a couple to that guard," explained Alphonse, "I don't know, she looked really sad when she saw me with them."

Ed started to laugh.

Author's note: Feel free to mention any grammar errors; I'm always willing to go back and fix them. Please leave comments!


End file.
